


In The Lost Age Where The Jewels Hide

by LaughingStones, roachpatrol



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking Games, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10113815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roachpatrol/pseuds/roachpatrol
Summary: “Never have ever I kissed someone in character,” Mike says, and laughs triumphantly when everyone else groans and drinks.“We’ve gotta change that sometime,Smiling Dragon,” Chuck grins, and Mike’s heart goes hot and sharp in his chest all of a sudden.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Halls of the stone tower in the foothills_   
>  _Why should we hide from anyone?_   
>  _Held you in my arms for the first time that day_   
>  _Felt like God's anointed when you didn't push me away..._

Mike thinks it's kind of unfair for Chuck to drag him to a LARPer party and then leave him in the middle of a bunch of kids he barely knows. He edges out of the crowded main room and wanders up a couple of floors until the noise of the party is mostly behind him, and then he hears Chuck’s voice and follows it.

“Yes, Thurman, that _totally_ counts. Drink up, dude.”

Thurman grumbles something indistinct.

“Never have _I_ ever,” Ruby’s voice says, “blown a guy in the contamination showers.”

“You and your targeting,” Chuck mutters, and Mike peers in a door in time to see Chuck take a swallow of whatever’s in his cup. He and Ruby and Thurman are lounging on a sprawl of pillows on the floor in a cozy little knot. Thurman’s resting an elbow on Chuck’s shoulder and Chuck is trying to sustain a playful glare at Ruby, but his mouth keeps twitching. Mike can't help but notice that his lips are really red right now. His cheeks are pink and the way he moves is different than usual, without the twitchy sharp edge. He looks relaxed and content here with his friends and their injokes and whatever game they're playing.

Mike thinks he probably ought to go back downstairs, not interrupt, but as he's standing there torn, Ruby glances over at him, the other two follow her gaze and Chuck’s face lights up.

“Mikey! Come sit down, have a drink, play! Ruby’s an evil targeter but she probably can't get you.”

“Not yet!” Ruby says with a wicked smile. “But I can gather information for the future.”

“Oh!” Thurman says, sitting up straight. “Come on, man, you've _got_ to play, I bet you've got all kinds of dirt on Chuck! You guys share a backstory.”

Mike gives in to this somewhat confusing persuasion and sits down between Ruby and Chuck where they make him a space.

“It's not a backstory if it's _real_ ,” Chuck is saying, “that's called _history_.”

“Unless you're pretty much a hero in real life, in which case you absolutely have a backstory,” Ruby says, and high-fives Thurman.

“So,” Mike says, as Chuck hides his pink, grinning face in one hand, “what are you guys playing?”

“Right!” Chuck says. “Okay, it’s like this: someone says ‘never have I ever... done a thing’, and if you’ve done that thing, you have to take a drink. Then it’s the next person’s turn. If no one’s done the thing, the guy who said it has to drink.”

“Do we drink the whole cup?” Mike asks as Ruby hands him one. They’re big cups, and he’s never really drunk before, but he’s pretty sure it’s a bad idea to have like five or ten cups of any kind of alcohol.

“Nah, we don’t want to kill you. Or Ruby. Just like, one gulp. No sips, though, that’s kind of cheating.”

“I can hold my liquor,” Ruby says. “The Darkslayer has bested whole taverns full of huge men!”

“Since _when?_ ” Thurman asks, and gets elbowed.

“So are you in?” Chuck says hopefully.

Even if Chuck wasn't looking at him like that, there would only be one possible answer. Mike isn't the guy to turn down the chance to try something new.

“Sure!” he says, grinning around at them.

“Excellent!” Ruby says crisply. “Now, the _fun-enhanced_ way to play is to pick something you haven't done, that you know someone else has, and say that.”

“Ruby,” Chuck says reproachfully, “why would you teach Mike your evil ways?”

“Oh _that's_ what you meant about me having dirt on Chuck!” Mike shoots Chuck a look, trying to smirk. He's not sure he actually can smirk, but it's important to practice. Of course, now he has to think of something to say that's fun but not too embarrassing for Chuck. If Ruby and Thurman don't already know about the kitten phobia, Mike’s not telling them.

“Um. Okay, uh, I--never have I ever,” he says carefully, “screamed and thrown something across the room because someone touched my shoulder and startled me.”

Chuck rolls his eyes and takes a drink, and Ruby and Thurman look at each other.

“Well, yeah,” Thurman says, “you've got the general idea. That's… kind of boring, though.”

“Yeah, come on,” Ruby says, “we're talking about the real dirt! The sex stuff!”

Chuck groans, glancing sideways at Mike, whose eyes are wide and who’s wondering if he somehow misheard that. “Come on, guys, you can go easy on him for _one round_ , right? He's never played before!”

Okay wow no he didn't mishear or misunderstand at _all_ , apparently. Mike has the brief thought that finding things he's never done is going to be really easy, and then he abruptly slots what he heard coming down the hall into this new context and holy _crap_. Chuck did _what_ in a contamination shower?

“Fine,” Ruby says. “For his first attempt, it is ruled acceptable.”

Thurman nods.

Chuck lifts his cup. “Okay, mine. Um. Never have I ever... made out on a bridge.”

“Well, it _started_ with making out,” Thurman says, and drinks. Chuck glances at Ruby and Mike, neither of whom drink.

“Oh, it's me,” Thurman says. “I have never ever kissed anyone I didn’t like.”

Chuck snorts and takes a drink, then raises an eyebrow at Thurman. “You targeting too now?”

“No! I totally thought--Ruby, that harpy a couple weeks ago? You liked her?”

Ruby huffs. “Well, if we're counting in-character, fine. Obviously not, she's a bad sport. Anyone who uses spells to ensnare an honest knight’s mind--hmph.” She drinks, then smirks. Mike’s noticed before that Ruby has a really expert smirk.

“Never have I ever kissed anyone in a car going over a hundred miles per hour,” she says, and looks smugly from Mike to Chuck. Mike just stares back, startled, because— _what?_ Does she think Chuck’s kissed _him,_ because he _hasn’t_ , and Mike’s never actually thought he’d _want to_. Beside him, Chuck just groans, sounding more exasperated than anything.

“Ruby! You are aware we ride together, right?” Chuck says. “And I already told you we've never--”

“Well okay, but not always!” she says. “Just mostly, right? You're in a different car sometimes, like when Lord Whirlwind comes to fight with us.”

“Okay, granted, but I still haven't done that because we would die in a flaming wreck, and also, it’s _Texas_ , no way. And I'm pretty much the only one in Mutt’s passenger seat, so you've struck out.”

Ruby frowns at Mike, who blinks at her and shakes his head when he realizes she's waiting for confirmation. She twists her mouth and takes a swig. “Drat. I'll get you, Smiling Dragon, just wait. You're up,” she adds.

Mike swallows. His mouth is dry because he hasn't taken a single drink yet, and everyone else has done so much, and they're all so casual about it! Like making out is no big deal, just, like, a fun pastime or something. Like they spend the whole weekend running around kissing each other, or something, which is— uh, maybe not something Mike ought to think about too much right now.

Of course, that _does_ kind of open up a wide field of opportunity for Mike. He smiles. “Never have I ever kissed someone, um, in bed.” Or at all, but he's saving that one. He's pretty sure _getting_ kissed is different from doing the kissing.

Thurman blinks at him before tossing back a gulp, Chuck shakes his head and drinks, and Ruby stares in mild outrage.

“What,” she says after drinking, “you only ever make out on the couch or something?”

Mike grins and shrugs, pleased with himself.

“Okay, bro, you've obviously got the hang of this,” Chuck says, “especially the targeting thing, so I hereby declare the easy round over.”

“Bring it on,” says Mike.

“Never have I ever,” Chuck says, “driven over a ginormous chasm with my car powered by something that was basically a ridiculously powerful bomb.”

“Dude,” Mike says, grinning again, “I thought targeting was evil?”

“My Lord has seen the error of his ways,” Ruby says gleefully.

“Also, you were in the car,” Mike points out.

“But I didn't _drive_ the car,” Chuck says. “You could say I was driven, but not that I drove. Drink up, Mikey.”

His smug look is really cute, and Mike takes a careful swallow of the stuff in his untouched cup. He's ready for it to burn, and it does, but much less than he expected. It's _way_ sweeter than what Rayon’s given him a time or two. It’s actually almost good.

Chuck seems to catch his expression, and laughs. “Better than Skylark scotch, right?”

“Uh— yeah, wow. What is it?”

“Mead,” Chuck says. “Fermented honey. We won a whole keg from Lacy the Fair Slayer this last campaign— I think you met her, she was the girl with the big horns.”

“You’re friends with a lot of people with horns,” Mike says.

“Lacy and I are mortal enemies, but good point,” Chuck says. “She was also the girl with the ratskin cloak who said really mean things about my cape.”

“Oh, her. She was kind of funny, though. I mean, your cape _is_ made from curtains.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, I’d like to see _you_ find high-pile green velvet. Anyway, we should go over to her grow space sometime, she needs some technical work done on her harvesters I think you and Dutch could pull off.”

“Oh, cool, when—”

“Focus, Lord Vanquisher,” Ruby cuts in. “Shop talk can wait for the weekdays.”

Thurman says, “Never have I ever kissed Lacy the Fair Slayer.”

Chuck sighs and takes a drink.

“I thought you guys were mortal enemies!” Mike says, startled and confused.

“You can hate someone and still kiss them,” Chuck says.

“Especially if you hover around them all weekend with _Forsooth, I’m Up For It_ written all over your face,” Ruby says.

“But why would you _want_ to?” Mike asks, still confused.

“My point exactly,” Ruby sniffs.

“Darkslayer, you have your sworn Liege Lord’s express permission to shut the hell up,” Chuck says.

“Never have I ever touched Lacy the Fair Slayer’s butt,” she says. “ _My Lord._ ”

“Ruby!”

She points and glares. “Drink up or forswear yourself, Vanquisher! The Darkslayer could not possibly countenance the service of a dishonorable man.”

Eyes locked with his friend, Chuck takes a very, _very_ small sip. Mike finds himself laughing along with Thurman, and eventually Ruby cracks a smile.  

“I’m surrounded by knaves and fools,” she says. “Mike, your turn.”

“Never have I kissed someone in character,” he says, and laughs triumphantly when everyone else groans and drinks.

“We’ve gotta change that sometime, _Smiling Dragon,_ ” Chuck grins, and Mike’s heart goes hot and sharp in his chest all of a sudden. He manages an almost normal smile.

“Yeah, well, if it’s Lacy the Fair Slayer, I’ll pass,” he says. Chuck snorts and raises his glass like a toast.  

“You've hardly been with us long enough to have done _much_ in character,” Ruby points out. “The longer you're a part of our merry band, the more likely such things will befall you.”

“Right, you're still getting used to your character,” Thurman says. “That takes a while. We don't know much about him yet.”

“Well, of course Smiling Dragon has ventured long in distant lands,” Chuck says. “He’s only recently returned to Raymanthia, so we don’t— we know not of his heroic deeds in foreign places.”

Mike blinks a couple times. “Hey, yeah,” he says. “So the first time we— uh, I— played? No, campaigned, right? With you guys, that was the dragon lancing thing, right? With the robots? That’s when Smiling Dragon first visited Raymanthia?”

“Yeah, that sounds right. Was the dragon an automaton?”

“I thought we agreed no automatons,” Thurman puts in. “I wanted to adapt that one cyber heist campaign and you guys said no.”

“Heists are stupid,” Ruby declares.

“It was a foreign automaton,” Chuck says, waving his hand lazily. “Made of dark ensorceled clockworks from distant shores and let loose in our proud kingdom to wreak havoc.”

“You’re really good at this,” Mike says. Chuck grins at him, as startlingly bright and sweet as he always is when Mike points out he’s smart or cool or whatever.

“So that was the adventure you became King for a day, before returning to me my crown, and— did you pledge fealty to Vanquisher specifically or did you just pay your due respects to local royalty? I don’t think we sorted that out this last campaign.”

“Uh.” Mike frowns. “The one where I’m your knight now.”   

Chuck tilts his head sharply to one side. “ _Oh_ ,” he says, smiling crookedly. “Huh. Ahaha. Cool. Glad to have you.”

“So what kind of stuff has Smiling Dragon been up to, then?” Thurman asks.

“I don’t know. Rescuing... people? Knight stuff. Quests.”

“Ah,” says Ruby, dryly. “ _Quests_.”

“Be nice,” says Thurman, and gets elbowed.

Chuck snaps his fingers. “Character game!” he says, and points at Ruby, then Thurman, then Mike. “Right?”

“Or we could just help him fill out a character sheet,” Thurman says. “Like, you know, normal people.”

“Thurman. Come on. When have we ever been normal people.”

“Vanquisher’s got a point,” Ruby says.

Mike raises a hand. “What’s going on?” he asks.

Chuck refills all their drinks. “Same game, but in character. It develops your backstory, gets you used to putting on your character. And it’s fun!”

“I still don’t think Lord Vanquisher plays party games,” Thurman says.

“Lord Vanquisher throws great parties,” Chuck says. “He’s half elf, you know. They party.”

“Alright, I’m going,” Ruby declares, and holds her cup up. “Never have I ever been _seduced by sirens_.”

Chuck laughs and Thurman makes a rude hand gesture, and they both drink.

“What’s a siren?” Mike asks.

“It’s a beautiful bird woman who sings a song that attracts any man who hears it. They drown and eat the men they catch.”

“The Darkslayer saved her fellow knight and sworn liege from their dread clutches this summer. It was the kind of battle for which epics are penned.”

“It was stupid,” Thurman says.

“It was pretty fun,” Chuck says. “The girls playing the sirens were really cute. Anyway, Mike, would Smiling Dragon have fallen victim to their enchantments? Like if he’d ever had adventures at sea.”

Mike thinks about it. Sea adventures sound pretty cool. He takes a drink. Thurman and Chuck both want to high-five him after that so he guesses it was the right call.

“Now you go,” Ruby says.

“Uh,” Mike says. “Never have I ever... slayed a dragon.”

Chuck laughs and raises his glass before drinking.

“You should take two drinks,” Thurman points out.

“The second dragon was an automaton,” Chuck says.

“So why are you named Smiling Dragon if you never killed a dragon?” Ruby asks.

Mike is stumped. “Maybe I _am_ a dragon?” he hazards.

“Huh. Yeah, you could be half—” Chuck snaps his fingers a few times, “—no, I think even half dragons have to be chaotic evil, and that’s not really your thing. We could go quarter dragon, I bet, and you’d be chaotic good.”

“I like the sound of chaotic good,” Mike says. Chuck grins again.

“Yeah, that’s you,” he says. “And even a quarter dragon is pretty badass. It’d explain the whole, uh, great at basically everything deal you’ve got going on.”

“I’m not great at basically everything,” Mike protests. “I’m bad at this!”

“You’re doing alright,” Thurman says.

“Okay, never have I ever...” Chuck bites his lip, taps his fingers against the table. “Shit. What _haven’t_ I done _._ Never have I ever worn a dress.”

“Really?” Ruby asks.

“Yeah, I know! Really.”

Mike takes a drink just for fun, and everyone stares at him. “What? It was a disguise or something. I was— uh— trying to save someone at a ball. And I had to sneak in as a princess. To save another princess. It was a princess-only thing.”

“I’m sure you were the prettiest princess, Smiling Dragon,” Ruby says gravely.

“Smiling Dragon is very pretty,” Mike says, just as gravely.

Chuck laughs. “The fairest and most becoming knight of my court,” he says. The way he smiles at Mike— not really a grin, but something softer, fonder, kind of— possessive?— makes Mike’s ears heat.

“Yeah, well,” he says. “Uh— Thurman! You’re up.”

“Never have I ever done a heist,” Thurman says. Ruby snorts at him.

“And you never will,” she says. “Such foul deeds are reserved for blaggards and dark rogues, not the honorable blades of Raymanthia’s shining peerage.”

“Heists are cool,” Thurman says.

Chuck looks at Mike.

“I don’t think that’s something I’d do either,” Mike shrugs. “Smiling Dragon’s a good guy.”

Chuck shrugs and takes a drink. “I think the thing where I had to get the Restoration Stone out from the Minotaur’s Stronghold counts,” he says.

“You can’t just say a quest where you have to steal something from somewhere is a heist!” Ruby says.

“Well, too late,” Chuck says.

Ruby snorts and raises her glass. “Never have I ever... lost a duel,” she says.

Chuck, Thurman, and Mike take a drink. Mike figures Smiling Dragon had to wipe out at some stuff, sometimes.

Mike raises a drink. “Never have I ever... been abducted by pirates,” he says. Then he thinks actually that would make for a cool sea adventure so maybe he should have been, but it’s sort of too late.

Ruby glares at him, then takes a drink.

“Oh,” Mike says. “Huh. Sorry. Really?”

She glares at her cup. “Yeah. We had a whole lakeside campaign last summer. I lost the draw, so I was the one who got held for ransom.”

“That was what was up with the sirens,” Chuck puts in. He straightens up a little and puts on a deeper voice. “Lord Vanquisher cares deeply for his champions, and would never send anyone into a danger he himself would not face, so we went to rescue our brave shield-sister Darkslayer and got in trouble with the sirens on the way back.”

Ruby bows her head in a showy kind of way. “Truly, my Lord, I remain as grateful as I do regretful.”

“And as passive-aggressive,” says Thurman.

Ruby elbows him. “I’ve never been _passive_ aggressive a day in my life, shield-brother, as you may well recall—”

“Oh, I _recall_ some—”

“Peace, you two,” Chuck says, still in that deeper voice, and they settle down immediately. “It’s unseemly for my favored champions to give play to such petty grievances.”

Mike feels a weird combination of embarrassed and… kind of jealous.

Chuck looks at him, smiling that soft, fond smile from earlier. “What say you, Smiling Dragon?” he asks.

“Uh.” Mike looks down at his drink. “I say, friends should resolve their problems with… words, and not...blows.” He thinks he phrased that in a proper, fantasy way.

“Wise counsel indeed,” Chuck says. “Clearly you’re not just a handsome face.”

Mike’s ears feel really hot. “Thank you, my King.”

Chuck’s smile broadens into a grin and he runs his hand through his hair. “Who’s next?”

“You are, my Lord,” Ruby says.

“Aw. Uh. Never have I ever… been kicked by a horse.”

“Because you won’t go anywhere near them,” Ruby says, and drinks.

Mike thinks about it. “Horses are like— you ride them, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Are they real?”

Thurman sort of waggles his hand. “Less real than cars. More real than dragons.”

“They were huge,” Chuck says, and brings up a holoscreen with a flick of his fingers.

Mike studies the pictures of very small people sitting on very large, very weird looking animals, then drinks. “I, Smiling Dragon, definitely fought a horse. I’ve fought…. Ten horses! All at once!” He’s surprised to find he’s finished off his cup. Ruby refills it. “Thanks.”  

“Never have I ever blown an orc,” Thurman says.

“Thurman!” Chuck says and glances quickly at Mike, his face red. “Jeez!”

“Drink up, my Lord,” Ruby grins.

“Like… um, this is still in character, right?” Mike asks.

“Oh my god,” Chuck says, into his cup. But he definitely takes a drink.

“The orc was in character, yes,” Thurman says.

“As was our valiant and talented Lord Vanquisher,” Ruby says.

“Um. That’s… wow, okay.” Mike looks at his cup, feeling like his ears are probably going to burn off. That’s a lot more explicit than kissing. “I… have… not done that.”

“That’s just as well, Smiling Dragon. I hear the green paint is most difficult to wash off.” Ruby grins at Chuck some more. “Never have _I_ ever… blown a satyr.”

“ _Stop it,_ ” Chuck says. Ruby bows her head like she’s ashamed, but she’s still smiling. “Also, I actually haven’t.”

“What, really? But there was that whole party with the Sylvestrans. You totally scored.”

“We partook in alternate activities,” Chuck says, drawing himself up haughtily. Thurman snickers.

“Uh, me neither,” Mike says. “I mean I… haven’t. Blown— uh, or done anything. With anyone.”

“Huh,” Chuck says. “Going for the whole, pure of body and spirit thing? That’s kind of cool.”

“Yeah. Thanks?”

“Well, _someone_ in your court’s got to be, I guess, Lord _Alternate Activities,_ ” Ruby says.

“If no one else has done your never, you’ve got to drink,” Chuck reminds her. “Fall on your sword, coward.”

“No man calls Ruby the Darkslayer a coward!” Ruby says, and drinks. She claps her cup back down on the table and refills it.

“Jeez, don’t die,” Thurman says.

“Where’s the water?” Chuck asks, and fishes around in the pillows until he pulls out a water bottle. “Okay, hydration round, guys, finish this off.”

The water tastes strange and flat after the hot, sharp sweetness of the mead, and Mike grimaces a little, but dutifully finishes the bottle when Chuck waves an imperious hand at him.

“Bio break,” Chuck says, and levers himself upright. He stretches, staggers a little, and catches himself against a wall. “Ahaha, whee. Yeah. Be back here in a couple minutes, okay? Mike, come on.”

Mike reaches up and takes Chuck’s hand, then experiences the worst headrush he’s ever had in his life when he’s pulled to his feet. It’s like a painless concussion: everything in the room sort of swoops and tilts around him, and he finds himself grabbing a fistful of Chuck’s cape and hanging on tightly. Chuck’s hands press against his waist, warm where his shirt’s kind of scrunched up, and he shivers a little.

“You okay, Smiling Dragon?” Chuck asks.

“Yeah, I’m— um—” Mike squeezes his eyes closed for a minute, but it doesn’t help anything. “Fine. Fine. Nnh.”

Chuck puts an arm around Mike and walks him out of the room. Mike gets the hang of it after a minute, setting his feet down carefully along the rolling floorboards of the hallway, but it’s still nice to have Chuck along to steady him.

“Am I— is this supposed to— things are moving,” he tries to explain.

“Yeah, that’s normal, you’re doing fine,” Chuck says. “Do you feel sick?”

“A little concussed.”

“Headache?”

“No, just—” Mike waves his arm to try to indicate.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, you’re fine, you’re just drunk.”

“Oh.” Mike thinks about it. “Good. That’s good! I like doing new stuff!”

“I know. Here’s the— go on, you do this part yourself.”

Mike is shoved into a bathroom. He manages to do this part himself, and washes his hands afterwards with careful concentration.

“I washed my hands,” he reports when he gets out of the room.

“Good job,” Chuck says, and goes and does his own... business. Mike leans against the wall and feels proud of himself. He’s drunk! It’s pretty easy. Maybe he’s good at it. Chuck seems to think so.

“Never have I ever been drunk,” Mike tells Chuck, when Chuck gets out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that one out, Mikey,” Chuck says dryly, and puts his arm around Mike again to help him navigate back to their room.

“Smiling Dragon’s probably been drunk,” Mike says. “He’s probably drunk— _drinking_ all the time. And goes to Lord Vanquisher’s parties, and they have fun. And a lot of friends. And it’s great.”

“It is pretty great. Okay, sit here.”

Mike sort of falls over in the pillow pile, but he gets steadied against Chuck’s side. Chuck is a lot bonier and more uncomfortable than the pillows, but he’s also warm and his bare arm is sliding against Mike’s and he can smell Chuck, this close, a wonderfully familiar smell underneath the new scents of dirt and smoke and the stuff they’ve been drinking.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says breathlessly. “I’m great. I’m fine.”

He thinks, _Never have I ever kissed my best friend_ , and bites his lip. “What next?”

“Well, are you having fun?”

“Yeah!”

“Then we’ll have another round. Oh— hey, guys, this room!”

Ruby and Thurman had actually walked past the doorway. They come back in with more water and a big dark blue glass bottle and a tray of bright green and orange and purple pieces of stuff. Mike recognizes them as cut up bits of vegetables after some study, and takes a carrot slice eagerly. Jacob sells all his good produce and only cooks with the reject stock, and a lot of his income goes to supporting the Burners’ cars and stuff, so Mike would feel really bad about complaining… but fresh, non-weird, non-gross vegetables still feel like a treat even after a couple years in Motorcity.  

“Oh, sweet, gimme,” Chuck says, and grabs a handful of green and purple...things.

“Save some for us, supersoldiers,” Thurman grumbles, and scoops some of the snacks towards himself.

Mike takes the handful of stuff away from Chuck, and Thurman’s away from him, puts it back on the plate, and divides it into equal quarters.

“There,” he says. “Fair and square.”

“Truly your wisdom humbles us all, Smiling Dragon,” Chuck says, and claps him on the back. “I want this quarter, it’s got the most celery.”

“It’s still weird you like celery,” Ruby says. “Isn’t that the veggie with the _least_ calories?”

“It’s crunchy,” Chuck says. “Not everything has to be about balancing energy expenditures.”

“Chuck eats anything,” Mike contributes.

“Yeah, we noticed,” Ruby says. “Pretty useful for keeping him going on a hard campaign.”

Mike nods. It’s nice that other people take care of Chuck when Mike’s not around.

“Once we had to fight like, way too many of Kane’s Ultra-Golems and he used up all his—” he frowns, then mimes the slingshot. “Plasma? He fainted. It was kind of scary. I keep ration cubes in Mutt’s glove compartment now, even though they're kinda gross.”

“You should keep celery in there too,” Chuck says, and crunches another stick. He doesn’t seem as flustered and defensive as he usually gets when Mike talks about... stuff he maybe feels bad about. Maybe he’s drunk too.

“Hey, are you guys drunk?” Mike wants to know.

“No,” Ruby says immediately.

“Yes, and Ruby is too,” Thurman says.

“Getting there,” Chuck says. “But I’m feeling pretty good. We all up for another round?”

Everyone agrees and Ruby unscrews the cap of the blue bottle. The smell is sharp and biting, way different from mead.

“Oh my god, Darkslayer, is this vodka?” Chuck demands.

“Vanquisher, we’ve been drinking basically lemonade. Come on.”

“Don’t give Mike vodka, oh my god. That stuff’ll make you blind.”

“It’s fine, it’s potato vodka, not the antifreeze stuff. It’s practically a vegetable. Smiling Dragon, try this.”

Mike tries it.

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted,” he reports, after he stops coughing.

“We’re sticking with mead,” Chuck says.

“Vanquisher,” Ruby starts, and Chuck slashes his hand through the air.

“ _Darkslayer_ , _that’s an order._ ”

She scowls, thumps the bottle back down on the table, and screws the cap on.

“As you say, my Lord,” she says, grudgingly.

Chuck gestures and Thurman hands him the mead bottle, and he pours for them.

“Alright, let’s have some more fun,” Chuck says. “If my champions _don’t mind?_ ”

“I’d like nothing better than to please my sovereign ruler,” Ruby says, rolling her eyes a little.

“Yeah, of course,” Thurman says. “That.”

Mike is having a hard time catching his breath, his heart racing from the sudden conflict, the sudden _command_. He can’t quite imagine Chuck ever snapping at him like that, but— he— kind of wants to. Wow.

“Uh,” he says unsteadily, and licks his lips. “Yeah. Whatever you want, my— my King.”

Chuck looks at him for a moment, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “Huh. I could get used to hearing that from you. My Dragon.”

Mike’s breathing problem does not get better.

“I went last,” Ruby says. “So: Smiling Dragon, you're up!”

“Oh! Um.” Mike tears his eyes away from Chuck’s mouth and busies himself picking up his cup.

“Sometime in this century, Smiling Dragon,” Ruby says.

“I’m thinking! I don’t know, never have I ever— betrayed my liege Lord.” It’s roleplay, right? Smiling Dragon can be a better guy than Mike. He can have served better guys than Kane. And— neither of them, he’s sure, would betray Chuck. That’s definitely a never.

Chuck gives him a soft, devastatingly sweet smile. Thurman and Ruby take a drink.

“Wow,” Mike says. “Really?”

“I was ensorceled!” Thurman says. “We had a whole campaign with vampires, it was great.”

Ruby scowls. “There was this plot where the Bardonians were trying to get me to spy for them and I thought I could be a double agent, but... Darkslayer’s talents lie more in the realm of direct conflict, not espionage.”

“She got me kidnapped!” Chuck says. “It was pretty funny. I was _not_ expecting it.”

“It wasn’t funny, you had a panic attack behind enemy lines and I was taped into a box all Saturday. It was like our worst campaign ever.”

“It was a little funny,” Thurman says. “You were _so mad_.”

“I foreswore my oath to my kingdom and my King! I was played like a lute! Of course I was mad!”

“Peace, Darkslayer,” Chuck says, and reaches out to pat her hand. “With all your long and faithful service to me, it is a trifling matter to forgive this one mistaken act. And besides, this was many seasons past.”

“I know, I just—”

“I trust my champions to act only for the grace and glory of their kingdom and their crown,” Chuck says grandly. “Should they not do likewise?”

“Not around vampires,” Thurman says, kind of breaking the moment.

“Silence, impudent rogue!” Chuck throws a piece of carrot at him. “Alright. Hear ye all: never have I ever… uh… jumped off a building for fun.”

Mike’s halfway to taking a drink before pausing. “Hey,” he says. “That’s— that’s not—that doesn’t seem like a character never, _Lord Vanquisher._ ”

“Smiling Dragon isn’t _that_ different from this total stranger I don’t know, _Mike_. He’s jumped off a building for fun. It was probably on fire. He was holding like— five babies and a mace.”

Mike isn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted and is kind of both. He's also not sure what a mace is.

“What’s that?” he asks. “That thing you said.”

“Babies are when humans are small,” Chuck says. Mike shoves him, laughing. Chuck brings up a hologram of a really cool weapon that looks kind of like a low-tech, hardcore version of his spark staff.

“I want one,” Mike says. He belatedly remembers to take a drink. Mead is so much better than scotch. He has no idea what’s up with Rayon.

“I think it’s me?” Thurman asks. “Never have I ever… been propositioned by a hot guy.”

“You’re not even _into_ guys,” Ruby says. 

“Which is very convenient for me,” Thurman says gravely.

Ruby and Chuck take a drink. Mike thinks about it, then follows suit.

“Okay, tell,” Ruby says.

“Well, he’s just—when you save people for a living. Uh. Sometimes they—” he rubs the back of his neck and looks at Chuck, his face burning, “—they think you’re really cool? I figure it’s like that for knights too.”

“So did you ever take _anyone_ up on the offer, Smiling Dragon?” Chuck asks.

“No,” Mike says immediately. “I don’t think it’d be right. And, uh, I— Smiling Dragon feels like— he’s waiting.”

“For what?” Chuck says. “The hottest possible guy?”

“Someone who really loves him,” Mike says. “Someone who knows him. The— his—someone he can trust.”  

“Huh,” Chuck says. He’s definitely staring at Mike’s mouth and Mike can feel every warm place they’re pressed together. “That’s… fair.”

“That’s very chivalrous,” Ruby says. “The ideal of courtly love. We could have a quest about it— the search for Smiling Dragon’s true intended.”

“ _No_ ,” Chuck and Mike say at the exact same time.

“If we have a quest to get one knight a girlfriend like half the rest of our army’s gonna want one too,” Thurman says.

“Yeah— it’s— it’s not practical,” Chuck says. His voice is kind of squeaky and stressed again.

“Never have I ever had a girlfriend,” Ruby says.

The rest of them look around at each other, then start laughing when no one drinks. Ruby sighs and raises her cup.

“To all us unfortunates,” she sighs, and drinks.

“Me again?” Mike says. He tries to think of things Sir Smiling Dragon wouldn't have done, but it keeps getting tangled up with the warmth and solidity of Chuck beside him and he ends up thinking about all the things he probably would do for his king. “Never have I ever killed an assassin for my King— yet. But it would be really awesome.”

Ruby drinks, looking very smug. Thurman just looks kind of disgruntled.

“She beat me to it,” he says.

“We need to do more assassin plots,” Chuck says. “We could do one of those ones where no one knows who’s the killer, and you could hunt them down.”

“Yeah! I definitely would.” Mike agrees eagerly. “Or—I could guard you?”

“Huh,” Chuck looks tentatively pleased. “Really? You’d get bored.”

“We spend a whole lot of time together _anyway_ ,” Mike points out. “And I mean— you’re always there for me in Mutt, it’d be kind of cool if Smiling Dragon could— like— be by his— um.” His brain kind of catches up with his mouth. “Could be there for you,” he mumbles.

“That’d be—” Chuck squeaks, coughs, tries again at a lower pitch, “That could be good.”

“Yeah, more butt-kicking for the rest of us,” says Thurman. “I hate guard duty.”

“Yeah, we _noticed_ ,” Ruby says, “like the last six times you got bored and let the bad guys past!”

“I don’t come all the way out here on weekends just to stand in front of a door all day,” Thurman says.

Chuck looks away from Mike and waves his hand at them. “Come on, guys, be nice.”

“I’m just saying,” Ruby says. “Anyway, it’s your turn.”

“Oh! Uh… I’ve never…” Chuck glances at Mike again. “Never have I ever turned down a proposition by a hot guy.”

Ruby snorts and takes a drink. Mike’s mouth is really dry when he looks away. He takes a drink. He thinks— if it were Chuck, maybe—

“Huh.” Thurman leans forward, peering at them intently. “Never have I ever wanted to kiss Lord Vanquisher.”

Mike feels a sick thrill of adrenaline shoot down his spine. Because— because _yeah, wow_. Absolutely he does. But he can’t— this is Chuck, his best friend, he could screw everything up, what if Chuck doesn’t want to drive with him anymore because he doesn’t want— Mike to want to kiss him.

But Smiling Dragon could want to kiss his king. Bracing himself for some kind of explosion, he takes a drink. 

“Oh,” Chuck says, very softly.

“We could change that,” Mike blurts out. “If you don’t— if you don’t want it to be a character—thing! If you don’t want him to! If it would make stuff weird.”

“No,” Chuck says immediately. “It’s fine. It’s— really romantic.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“It wouldn’t be weird?”

“ _No_ ,” Chuck says again. “I like it.”

Mike grins, tight and shivery all over with nervous anticipation— he feels like he’s jumping off a building, only there’s no ground.

“Oh my god would you just—” Ruby makes an inarticulate kind of growl. “Never have I ever wanted to kiss Smiling Dragon, _my Lord_ , or maybe take him to another room for awhile!”

Chuck gives a high, choking laugh and buries his face in both hands. Then he takes a deep breath, sits up very straight, knocks back the rest of his mug, and leans in to take Mike by both shoulders.

“May I kiss you, my Dragon?” he says, in a low, serious voice.

Wow. Okay. This is happening.

“You may, my King,” Mike says a little unsteadily. Chuck breathes out, in, and leans the rest of the way in. His mouth is warm and his lips are soft and Mike shouldn’t be surprised by either of those things but he is, this is great, this is _actually happening_.

“Now comes the part where you guys get a room,” Thurman says.

Chuck pulls back from Mike, who makes a really embarrassing inadvertent moan of protest.

“I have a room,” Chuck says. “It’s this one. You two are excused.”

“Well okay, have fun,” Ruby says, and picks up her vodka bottle. Thurman picks up the rest of the veggie plate.

“Uh. Bye?” Mike says. He is not sure if he’s ever been this self-conscious in his _life_ , but _wow_ , Chuck is kicking his friends out so he can kiss Mike and they’re waving at him as they leave like it’s just some casual _thing_ , because it _is_ , _wow_.

“Drink more water!” Chuck yells after them.

“Ruby the Darkslayer drinks what she wants!” Ruby declares.

“I’m on it,” Thurman says.

Mike isn’t at all sure what to do next, but when he leans back in to try and kiss Chuck again he totally succeeds, and it’s great, so, there’s that. Chuck bites his lower lip and he moans again at the bright, startling spark of pain, and he can feel Chuck’s breathless laugh right against his mouth.

Chuck pushes Mike backwards, swinging a leg over his as Mike’s shoulders hit the ground. And that’s— really new. He’s not sure he’s ever actually been pinned like this before. He was always one of the best cadets at ground combat, he didn’t spend much time getting pinned at all, but he forgets that Chuck can— that Chuck can do this kind of stuff too, sometimes, when he feels like it. Like apparently now.

“Hey. Breathe,” Chuck says. His weight is really heavy on Mike’s thighs and his hands are really heavy on Mike’s shoulders and Mike is really not sure if he actually likes this.

He breathes. It comes out really shaky. Above him, Chuck’s looking down with complete focus, studying him.

“I’m,” he tries to explain. “I’m, um.” He doesn’t actually know.

“Should I get—?” Chuck starts to lift off and Mike grabs for him, fisting one hand in his shirt and the other around his leg, just over the knee, keeping him there.

“No! No, stay— stay with me, this is good, I like this,” he says.

“Mmm,” Chuck says, still with that intent, sort of critical look on his face. Like Mike’s kind of a problem right now and he’s itching to solve it. He shifts his weight a little, frees a hand to run it through Mike’s hair, and that’s— nice.

Then he closes his hand in a fist, and it _stings_ , and Mike arches involuntarily, his breath caught in his throat again.

“Huh,” Chuck says. “Alright.” He pulls a little, tilting Mike’s head back, and bends down to press a kiss into the side of his exposed throat. Mike shudders all over, the wet heat of Chuck’s mouth against the sensitive skin, then actually _whines_ when Chuck bites him. Chuck laughs a little, a tickling burst of air over the wet skin, and moves down a little, and does it again. It isn’t until Mike is shuddering all over and whining on every breath, unable to keep quiet, that Chuck sits back and wipes his mouth.

“So,” he says, kind of hoarse and squeaky. “So— how do you wanna play this?”

“Um—” Mike tries to think of anything but how much he wants to pull Chuck back down against him. “I don’t— uh—” He squeezes his eyes closed. The characters, they’re doing this in character, it’s not— it’s not _them_ , like not _really_. “Right. Right. Uh. I’m. I’m yours. My— my Lord. Do— what you want, tell me what you want, tell me what I can do for you.”

He swallows, shivers, goes for it: “Command me.”

Chuck shivers, all over, he can feel it. “Oh my god,” he says faintly. “Yeah. I. As— as you— so wish, my knight. Kiss me.”

Mike pushes himself up to reach, eagerly, because he definitely knows how to do this right now, this is an easy command.  Chuck runs his hands through Mike’s hair, then gently traces the rim of one of his ears, then down the sensitive line he’s bitten along Mike’s throat. He’s shifting his weight on Mike’s legs, back and forth, like he’s having the same trouble Mike is at controlling himself.

“Can you— tell me, my— my champion,” Chuck says, “what have you— done before now. With anyone.”

“I’ve been kissed a couple times,” Mike admits. “Is... is that okay?”

Chuck breathes out, harshly, then in again, then leans back. He pushes his hair out of his face so he can stare at Mike with his eyes clear, and his mouth opens and closes a few times. Mike feels his face heat, but from embarrassment.

“Alright,” Chuck says shakily. “Okay then. That’s okay.”

“I didn’t kiss anyone before,” Mike says. “I didn’t want to, I— I wanted—” he breaks off. Shakes his head. “I didn’t want them like I want this.”

“A-alright. Wow. That’s. Something. I’m— I’m glad to hear it.” Chuck takes another deep couple of breaths and then cups the side of Mike’s face, smiling. “The best and most beautiful of my court— hah, of any court— and you’re giving yourself to _me._ ”

Mike smiles back. He’s still shaky and embarrassed, but... happy. Full of anticipation again, the good kind of thrill. Everything’s been great so far, and what he doesn’t know how to do, Chuck does. Everything’s going to keep being great.

“You’re the best king of anywhere,” he says. “You slayed two dragons. And you rescue your champions. And you care about what’s right. Of course I'm here with— for you.”

“ _God_ ,” Chuck breathes, and kisses him again, hard, teeth against his lips and hands in his hair. When he breaks off, he’s panting raggedly. “Okay. You want to know how to— to serve me?”

“Yeah!” Mike agrees, eagerly.

“Right. You have to tell me when you don’t want to do something.”

“But I—”

“I don’t ask for more from my— knights— than they’re willing to give. I don’t ever want to hurt them. If you don’t like a command I give you, tell me. Okay?”

“I kind of—” Mike bites his lip. “I kind of like it when you hurt me. Uh. It’s— it feels good.”

“But if something feels _bad_. Tell me.”

“Well, what if—”

“ _Mike. That’s an order._ ”

Mike freezes, breath catching in his throat, heart stuttering. It takes a couple tries to get enough air to say anything.

“Yessir,” he says. Closes his eyes. Swallows hard. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Huh,” Chuck says, and Mike’s starting to recognize that particular noise, and— yeah, Chuck presses his thumb into the sensitive spots on Mike’s neck, making them ache, and he moans a little— yeah, Chuck makes that noise when he figures out what Mike likes. It figures he’d be as smart about making out as anything else.   

“Good,” Chuck says, and Mike shivers again because it feels unexpectedly good when he says that. Warm and nice after the hot hard jolt of the order. “That’s good. Take your shirt off.”

They’re going to be doing a lot more than kissing, and whatever that is, Mike is _really looking forward to it_. He strips off his shirt as fast as he can without hitting Chuck with his elbows or anything, then folds it properly and stows it off to the side. Chuck looks at it and smiles a little crookedly for some reason before turning back to Mike himself.

“Good,” he says again, and runs his hand up along Mike’s stomach as Mike breathes out all shivery. “Man, look at you.”

“What next?” Mike asks eagerly. “Can I— can I take _your_ shirt off?”

“ _No_ ,” Chuck says— almost yelps— and folds one arm around himself. Mike leans back, embarrassed again. Chuck’s never let him see the operation scars and stuff on his chest, of course that’s not going to change just because he’s a king right now. Even though he could say they were from dragon slaying.

“Sure, sorry,” he says. “What _can_ I do?”

“How do you feel about taking your pants off?” Chuck asks. 

“Well, you’re kind of sitting on me, Lord Really Heavy Guy,” Mike points out, and Chuck laughs, and stops holding on to himself like he thinks Mike might tear him apart. He shifts back and Mike unbuttons his pants and does his best to shuffle them down to his knees. He’s not really sure if he should be embarrassed about his hard-on when Chuck’s got one too and probably knows all about them, anyway. But he still is, a little. Chuck has to move off him entirely when he’s got to work on his boots, but finally everything but his boxers are off and Mike leans back on his hands and smiles hopefully.

“Like this?” he asks. “What now?”

“You don’t take anything slow, do you,” Chuck smiles, and Mike smiles back. There’s a long, comfortable moment where it’s just them, the way they’ve always been, and then Chuck takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and puts his palm flat against Mike’s chest. Mike presses up against it, his heart racing when Chuck locks his arm and pushes back, keeping him down. It feels _dangerous_.

“Alright,” Chuck says, sounding almost calm. “So how is it we have found ourselves here, Smiling Dragon?”

Mike blinks. “Uh. Didn’t we just… say? You’re a great king, so—”

“No,” Chuck cuts over him. “I mean to say, long have I respectfully admired you, the fairest of my knights, and yet until tonight you made no move to suggest you returned my… ardent regard. I merely wonder what has changed that you answer differently tonight.”

He’s— what? Chuck’s been into him? Mike would have noticed that. Wouldn’t he? Or is this in character? This is in character, right? It’s gotta be. That’s kind of cool, though.

Except Mike has no idea what to say in character. “I... thought… that…” he stalls, and Chuck _pinches one of his nipples._

Mike goes “ _Hngf!_ ”

“Well?” Chuck says, smiling kind of crookedly. Mike squirms and thinks about maybe kneeing Chuck in his dumb stupid stomach, except it feels really good, and that’s kind of the problem, how’s he supposed to think of anything like this?

“I can’t— I don’t know— Ch— my Lord, come _on_ ,” he blurts out, exasperated.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Chuck says, still smiling. When Mike raises one hand to push him or something, Chuck takes him by the wrist and forces it back down. Which doesn’t help anything.

“Some things aren’t meant to be done as quickly as humanly possible, my hasty knight,” Chuck says, sternly, and Mike shivers.

“Okay,” he says, breathing hard. “Okay. Um. Right. I—” what was the question? “—I thought that, I thought, you—” _think, think_ , “—I didn’t think you liked me. _Favored me_. In that way. I thought you favored— uh— ladies?”

Chuck laughs. “Oh, you _are_ new to my court!” He leans in and kisses the side of Mike’s throat, then nips him to get another startled, helpless squeak.

“You never noticed before tonight, did you,” Chuck says. Mike can feel his breath curl under his jaw. “Tell me, my newest knight, was it different, in your former lands? Was it unseemly for lords to show such favor to their men?”

“Yes,” Mike says immediately. It wasn’t anything like this in the Cadets. They weren’t friends with their commanders, as cadets, or with each other, and this kind of thing— if this had ever happened— it hadn’t happened to Mike. No matter what the ugly rumors said about the kind of affection Kane had for him.

“It’s not like that here,” Chuck says.

“I noticed,” Mike says, laughing a little. He shifts his weight enough to catch Chuck’s mouth with his own, and gets a few seconds of kissing in before Chuck plants both hands on his chest and pushes him flat on his back. His breath catches, again, and he’s once more unsure of whether this is okay. It’s just Chuck, but he doesn’t have great memories of being caught by people who liked him less than Chuck. Not being able to move— to get away— he can’t get the thoughts out of his head, cuffs and cords and unfun trips to bare white cells, even though _it’s just Chuck_ , his king, who’d _never_ hurt him.

“Tell me how you feel,” Chuck commands him.

“Uh. I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“Don’t like it.”

Chuck stops holding him down. He sits up, breathing hard, and catches Chuck’s arm before he can retreat entirely.

“Good,” Chuck says gently, which eases his sudden fear that this is all going to get called off. Instead, Chuck shifts enough that they’re holding on to each other’s forearms.

He asks, “Combat fatigue?”

“I’m not tired,” Mike says immediately.

Chuck looks, of all things, kind of sad. “They don’t talk about a lot of things in your former kingdom,” he says. “The sort of wounds a man bears on his spirit is one of them.” He puts his hand on Mike’s chest again, strokes his skin with the side of his thumb. It feels really nice.

Mike never really thought of getting hurt in his… mind, or whatever. His spirit. It makes a weird kind of sense. Smiling Dragon’s had a lot of adventures, and served… maybe he’s served a lot of bad kings. Or even just one, like Mike has. Maybe he doesn’t like to be pinned down either.

“Would you lie back if I commanded you, rather than forced you?” Chuck asks.

“...Yeah,” Mike says. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“Lie back and let me touch you,” Chuck says.

“I wanna touch you too,” Mike says. 

“Well one of us is king and it’s not you so _do it_ ,” Chuck says.

Mike drops back hastily, and spreads his palms flat against the ground for good measure. “Okay!” he says. He swallows hard, then glances up to see if he did it right.

Chuck nods at him, satisfied, and he relaxes a little. “As I was saying,” Chuck says, leaning down to kiss Mike's collarbone, “here in Raymanthia, a knight and his lord may lie together, if both are willing. How willing are you, my Dragon?”

He's speaking with his lips almost touching Mike's collarbone, warm breath brushing over Mike's skin with each word. This is an easy question, though, Mike’s got this one even if he's really distracted.

He takes a breath and says fervently, “I'm _very_ wi— _ahhh!_ ”

Chuck stops biting his collarbone. “Yes, my knight? Keep talking.”

“My _Lord!_ How am I supposed to—” a hard nip “— _nngh!_ Keep t-talking when you're— when I can't even _think?_ ”

Chuck raises his head. “Because I told you to.”

Mike hauls in air and it shudders out of him. He doesn't seem to be getting enough oxygen, his head is spinning, and he's incredibly turned on because _god_ , Chuck is _so hot_ like this, just completely casual about being in charge.

“Yeah,” he says with a dry throat. “Okay.”

“Answer my question,” Chuck reminds him, and nips again.

“ _Hn_ — ‘m very willing,” he gasps, “like really, really, _oh god!_ ” He arches as Chuck stops biting and sucks instead, hard. It hurts almost like a bite, but a dull sting instead of sharp pressure, and Chuck’s mouth is hot and wet and Mike is squirming in no time.

“Tell me how much,” Chuck says, and his face is hidden behind his hair at this angle but it sounds like he's smiling. “What would you be willing to do for me?”

“Anything,” Mike says. “Anything you— _hahh_ — want, just tell me. Order me. _Nnh._ ”

Chuck swallows audibly. “Give me some examples,” he says, and starts nipping his way over Mike's chest.

Mike whimpers and tries to think. “I would totally kill a dragon for you,” he gets out in a rush between moans. “Two dragons. Four.”

“As I'm sure my knight will recall,” Chuck says haughtily against his skin, “I am perfectly capable of killing my own dragons.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn't have to,” Mike says. “That's what you have— _ohh_ — have knights for.”

Chuck sounds like he's smiling again. “True enough. Continue.” He flicks his tongue over a nipple and Mike’s whole body jolts.

“ _Ah!_ God, I, uh. Okay, I would, I would slay an evil— _nngh_ — sorcerer, um, even if he— _hhh_ — like, cast really nasty spells on me.” Did that sound dumb? He's pretty sure it did, but he can't think like this! He really hopes it's good enough.

Chuck stops sucking a spot low on Mike's pec to say, “Loyalty indeed,” and Mike relaxes. Chuck doesn't sound impatient or annoyed, so Mike's still doing okay.

“And what of other arenas, my loyal dragon?”

“Uh. Huh?”

Chuck looks up and grins at him. “Sex, Mike.” The grin is restrained to a more regal smile. “Smiling Dragon, how far will the liberties you grant me extend?”

“Really far,” Mike says as soon as he gets it. “However far you want, my Lord, seriously. You can do anything,” he adds, just to be absolutely clear.

This time he can see Chuck swallow before he puts his forehead down on Mike’s chest and just— stays there a minute. “Okay. Okay,” he says eventually, quiet like he's talking to himself, then louder, “I will strive to be worthy of your trust in me.”

“You already are,” Mike protests. “Seriously, it's not like you're gonna do anything I don't like.”

Chuck lets out a noise that's a cross between a high laugh, a sigh and a whimper. “I better not,” he mutters, and nips Mike’s stomach sharply. Mike yelps and his hips twitch up.

“Alright,” Chuck says. “Perhaps, instead of telling me what deeds you _would_ perform, you can tell me what deeds you _plan_ to perform when next we meet our foes on the battlefield.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Mike says, and is suddenly caught up in a rapid series of thoughts. ‘When next we meet our foes’, like if Mike comes to LARP next weekend. This is all about Smiling Dragon and Lord Vanquisher, but is it just a one-time thing or— like, next weekend, will they still be together, or just a knight and his king again like normal? Is Chuck okay with all the LARPers seeing the king get romantic with a knight?

Then he remembers some of the other things Chuck’s apparently okay with LARPing, and decides to stop worrying about it.

“Smiling Dragon?”

“Right! Sorry! Yeah. Okay, um, for your favor, my Lord, I will defeat any who threaten you.”

“Ah,” Chuck says. “My knight, you will be well rewarded for your service.”

And the thing is it sounds like a totally reasonable thing to say, very kingly and stuff, but then Chuck smiles at him— more of a smirk, really— and Mike almost moans because _oh wow_ , okay, _rewarded_ , future makeouts are suddenly on the table. He can't help squirming. Chuck just smiles wider.

“Please continue,” he says courteously, and Mike groans as he goes back to sucking hot little bruised spots onto Mike's skin.

“Okay, uh, I would— _ohhh_ god— uh. I'll, like, slay a bunch of, uh, wicked Bardonians, and. _Mmh!_ T-turn the tide of the battle, I'll keep fighting even if it looks grim, and I'll win for you, my— _hahh_ — my Lord.”

“I know you will,” Chuck says, low and warm. “My most skilled and indomitable warrior. Pray go on.”

Mike shivers, gasps for breath and tries to think of anything else to say. “I— I would— I'll protect—” he starts, and cries out, back arching as Chuck puts his mouth on Mike’s nipple for the first time and sucks, rolling his tongue around it.

“Oh my _god!_ ” Mike’s hands are clawing at the floor, his hips twist and jerk against air. “Chu— mm, my Lord, p-please!”

Chuck sucks one last time and pulls back. “A question for you, my Dragon,” he says, and he's breathing harder, like maybe this is doing something for him too, even though Mike hasn't been allowed to try anything yet. “If I want you to wait, will you obey me?”

Maybe because Mike's distracted, it doesn't make sense at first. “Yeah, sure— uh, wait for what?”

“You should really be sure you know that _before_ agreeing,” Chuck says with an amused snort. “Wait to come.”

Mike moans in dismay at the thought, but doesn't hesitate. “Yes.”

Chuck pauses. “You're not even going to ask how long?”

“I don't care,” Mike says, panting. “I'll do whatever you want, just tell me.”

“Even if I want you to wait another hour?” Chuck says, a little incredulous.

Mike does have to take another moment to whine, hips shifting restlessly, but there's only one possible answer. He takes a deep breath. “If it makes you happy,” he says clearly, “I want to do it. I don't care how hard it is, I'll do it anyway.” That doesn't sound very LARPy, so he adds, “Anything to serve, uh, and to please my King.”

Chuck blows out a shaky breath, breathes in again. “Yeah, okay,” he says, voice hoarse, and swallows. “Your king is pleased.”

He kisses Mike and Mike kisses back desperately, clutching at Chuck’s shoulders. By the time Chuck pulls away Mike is making little soft breathy sounds into the kiss and his hips keep twitching, looking for friction, a touch, anything. His hands cling, reluctant to let Chuck go until Chuck pulls them free, kisses the knuckles of each, and says, “Hands down, my Dragon.”

Mike presses his palms against the floor and Chuck smiles at him.

“Good.”

Mike catches his breath and shivers at the warm approval. He's not sure how Chuck can make him feel like this with a word and a look, but _god_ he likes it a lot.

“What other brave deeds will you perform for the glory of Raymanthia?” Chuck asks, and Mike tries to think of something. Then Chuck goes back to work on his throat, sucking one spot after the next so they ache and throb, working his way slowly down to his shoulder. Mike whimpers and writhes until Chuck lifts his head.

“Answer me,” he says.

Mike wants to obey, so he does his best to focus past the pleasure and the need, but he's not sure how much sense he's making as Chuck moves _so slowly_ down his body. He's pretty sure at one point he says something about building Lord Vanquisher a new throne room out of shot-down Kanebots, and that's… not very LARPy either, but Chuck doesn't have a word of complaint. He keeps murmuring encouragement and praise, all the while touching Mike in ways that are making him lose his mind. Whenever Mike gets too frustrated, too caught up in how much _more_ he _wants_ , tries to get his hips in on the action, Chuck pulls back and makes him flatten his hands out on the floor, control himself, talk to him. Tell him stuff.

“My knight, how did you come by your fabled staff?”

“Ngh, god, I— I found it, s-somewhere, please, I can’t— ahh, I don’t, hhah, don’t know— I fought a troll for it, in a, a secret hidden cave, is that enough?”

“You’re doing good.”

“ _God_ , please—”

“Shh. You’re doing so good for me.”

It’s agonizing, but it’s also the best thing that’s ever happened to him, probably, and if anyone came and tried to stop them Mike would probably knock their head off for it. He just wishes Chuck would _hurry up_.

Chuck doesn't hurry up. Mike can barely put two sensible words together by the time he's leaving marks across Mike’s stomach. When he finally slides a thumb under the waist of Mike’s boxers and tugs thoughtfully, it takes everything Mike’s got not to move his hands from where Chuck said to keep them and get that last stupid piece of clothing out of the way without orders.

He can't stop himself from begging, though, a string of babbled pleas more gasped or moaned than spoken. Chuck makes a shaky little cut-off noise and mutters something Mike doesn't quite catch about _Not fucking fair_ , and then he straightens up.

“A good king is gracious and merciful,” he says in a high, breathless voice. “And responsive to the needs of his subjects. Get these off,” he adds, tugging again on the boxers, and Mike scrambles to obey with shaking hands.

Once he's totally naked, though, Chuck doesn't move to do anything about it, just sits back and _looks_ at Mike, eyes sweeping up and down him as he squirms and bites his lip and pants. He can do this, he can wait longer if Chuck wants him to, but _god_ he doesn't want to, he wants more _now_.

“Look at you,” Chuck says softly, and the tone of his voice is enough to get a moan out of Mike again. “You've been so good for me. I think you deserve something for it.”

Mike makes a hopeful noise that turns into a cry when Chuck’s hand wraps around him, and then Chuck leans down and puts his _mouth_ on Mike and Mike might actually die, that feels way too good to be survivable. It feels good and then it feels amazing, his muscles are taut and quivering and he's making a lot of noise and abruptly coming, everything briefly dissolving in the shock of pleasure.

When he finally opens his eyes a long stretch of seconds later, Chuck is smiling at him from closer than expected, leaning on one elbow beside him.

“Looks like someone needed that,” Chuck says.

“And whose fault is that?” Mike says back, but he can't help grinning.

“Hah,” Chuck says, and kisses him. It tastes a little funny, but Mike really couldn't care less because: Chuck. Kissing him. Still new and awesome.

“So hey,” he says when Chuck finally pulls away, face flushed. “Is it my turn to touch you yet?”

Chuck twitches. “Oh! Uh. You don't have to, it's okay, I'm—”

“But I want to,” Mike says, putting a careful hand on Chuck’s hip, thumb stroking back and forth across the denim of his jeans. In a flash of inspiration, he adds, “Let me serve my King.”

“Your king would not demand of you this service,” Chuck says unevenly, breathing harder.

“Of course not,” Mike says, “but will he refuse, uh, a gift freely given?”

Chuck lets out a long, shaky sigh and flops onto his back, rubbing a hand over his face. “Like I could,” he mutters, and laughs a little. “Very well, my Dragon, I accept your offer.”

“Sweet,” Mike says with satisfaction. “I mean, excellent, my Lord.” He leans over to kiss Chuck some more and strokes a hand up his chest over his shirt. When his fingers find a nipple, Chuck squeaks into the kiss.

Encouraged, Mike plays with that for a while, squeezing and rubbing through the material of Chuck’s shirt and listening to the gasps and whimpers Chuck makes. It really would be easier without the shirt in the way, though, and Mike wants bare skin under his hands anyway, so he slips his hand under the edge of Chuck’s shirt and—

“No!” Chuck yelps, hand lashing out to grab Mike’s wrist.

Right, Mike sort of knew he was pushing it with that, but… the thing is, he's not really Mike right now, is he? And he knows why Chuck doesn't want to take off his shirt, or even let Mike touch him under it, but Smiling Dragon has no idea what Lord Vanquisher’s reasons are. Mike's supposed to be staying in character, right?

He blinks and frowns a little, trying to look confused. “Why not, my Lord?”

Chuck’s lips thin like he thinks Mike’s messing with him or something. “It is an unbecoming sight for your eyes,” he says sternly.

Okay, well, Smiling Dragon’s not that dumb, right, he knows his king has been in lots of battles, he can figure this out.

“My Lord,” Mike says, still frowning, “since becoming king, you have fought for years for the protection of your country. Did you think I would be surprised by your battle-scars?” He's about to say more when Chuck lets go of his wrist with a little shove to make clear he'd better move that hand, and sits up.

“Surprised I have some? No,” Chuck says, raking fingers through his hair. His mouth is tight and bitter. “But that's not— they are hideous things, unsuited for any to look upon. I would as soon not earn your disgust,” he finishes in a lower voice.

“You won't,” Mike says promptly, and Chuck turns to give him an exasperated look. Seriously, though, Mike may be role-playing, but he's not playing around right now. “No, my Lord— my King. Listen,” he tries, a little pleading.

Chuck crosses his arms like he's hugging himself and waits.

“You fought two dragons and won,” Mike says. “The, uh, the automaton you escaped unharmed, and saved my life at the same time, but it's no surprise that the living one injured you badly. And no shame either, dragons are, uh, kind of a big deal, right, it's amazing enough that you killed it! Any warrior could be wounded really— uh, _grievously_ , in such a fight. Wounded to _death_. So, it matters not to me what the scars look like! They're a badge of honor, a sign that you have the strength and courage to— to fight terrible things and survive.”

Chuck goes still. Mike’s heart is pounding, because maybe he started out talking about Lord Vanquisher, but that last sentence definitely was about Chuck, and he kind of thinks Chuck knows it. He swallows and keeps talking.

“No matter what scars you bear, no matter how, uh, unsightly you think they are, they can't disgust me. They can't make me stop respecting you. They can't make me stop wanting to serve you, and fight next to you, and… touch you.”

Chuck takes a long breath and scrubs a hand over his face. “God,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I can't believe you're… Trust you, my knight, to say what I'd least expected to hear.”

Encouraged, Mike says, “I just want to make you feel good, my Lord, like you did for me. And I can't do it with your clothes on.”

“I assure you, you can,” Chuck says.

Mike bites his lip. “Please,” he says quietly.

Chuck lets out a small, cracked noise and puts his face in his hands. Then he throws his arms in the air. “Fine! That is completely unfair and I'm going to seriously regret this in about five seconds, but fine!” His hands go to the hem of his shirt and Mike is waiting too eagerly to really register what he's mumbling about kicked puppies. After a breath or two to gather his resolve, Chuck peels the shirt up over his shoulders and head and pulls it off, dropping it beside him. His arms cross immediately over his chest and he hunches a little, but that's not enough to cover up the scars.

Because they're massive. The biggest one runs from nearly his collarbone down to the bottom of his ribs, and it's a little raised, wide and dark pink and shiny, where he was cut open to get all kinds of tech put in. And then cut again, from the looks of it, to fix stuff that went wrong.

Mike’s known before now that Chuck’s career with Kane Co went really differently than his, but he's never seen the proof so graphically. Mike's operations were a lot smaller, and he healed up great, the scars are thin and flat, barely noticeable. Chuck’s pale, nearly translucent skin shows every mark as vividly as paint.

He reaches out, puts a hand in the middle of Chuck’s chest, and pushes gently. “Lie back, my Lord, so I can, uh, tend to you properly.”

Chuck breathes deeply and uncrosses his arms to lie down. He moves stiffly, body tense and rigid even when he's lying still. Mike wants him to relax, but he has the feeling words aren't going to be enough this time.

Instead, he leans down and presses a kiss just below Chuck’s ribs at the edge of the biggest scar. Chuck stiffens further and Mike raises his head.

“My Lord?”

Chuck’s voice is unsteady. “What are you doing?”

Mike kisses a little higher along the scar, on his ribs, and tries to figure out what to say. He's making a point, but he probably shouldn't say that.

“Trying to show you how I feel about it,” he says after a minute, and kisses Chuck’s breastbone just above where the scar intersects with a couple of smaller ones. He kisses the one cut over Chuck’s heart, feeling the rapid pulse of the muscle and, somewhere underneath, a rising, almost musical whirr.

Chuck’s breath shudders out of him. “You're so weird,” he says, and his voice cracks and wobbles.

Mike looks up at him and grins. “It's part of my charm.”

That gets a small snort from Chuck, which feels like a triumph right now. When Mike strokes the side of his stomach he draws a sharp breath in, and pushes, tentatively, up into Mike’s touch. Encouraged, Mike repeats the gesture, almost petting him, enjoying the way Chuck gradually, bit by suspicious bit, relaxes into it.

“You’re brave,” he says, resting his hand over the center of the biggest scar. “You’ve always been so brave.” Chuck shudders against him and makes a hoarse little noise, almost a laugh. Mike’s gotten dangerously close to falling out of character, though, so he pushes forward, and tugs at one of Chuck’s belt loops.

“Can I, uh, relieve my Lord of his… pantaloons?”

Chuck cracks up.

“Oh my god, _Mike_ ,” he gasps, and Mike grins, not sure where he messed up but enjoying the reaction.

“Is that a yes?” Mike asks.

“It’s a _that’s not what they’re called_.”

“Do I have to guess what they’re called before I can take them off?”

“You’re relentless!”

“That’s how I win, my Lord.”

Chuck reaches down and runs his fingers through Mike’s hair, and Mike can’t help but make a little pleased noise. He kisses the sharp line of Chuck’s hipbone.

“What happened to following my orders, huh?”

“I will if you _give_ me any!”

Chuck gives a huge, exasperated-sounding sigh instead, but Mike’s not fooled at all.

“Okay, take off my pants.”

“Your panta—”

“ _No_.”

Mike takes off Chuck’s pants. And that is— that’s definitely— that’s Chuck’s dick right there. Wow. Mike puts an experimental hand around it and Chuck makes a hitching gasp of a noise that's so incredibly sexy Mike has to bite his lip not to moan. That's pretty encouraging, so he lowers his head to try out what Chuck did for him— and Chuck’s fist closes in his hair, catching him up short with a yelp.

“No way, you'll choke yourself. I know you. You're going to take this carefully or not at all, you hear me?” Chuck says firmly.

“Yeah, yeah okay, got it,” Mike says, breathing harder, badly distracted by the steady, unyielding pull of Chuck’s hand, holding Mike's head still.

Chuck snorts and tugs once, making Mike groan. Then the aching pressure is gone as he pulls his hand away, and Mike looks up at him, a little disappointed.

“You do as I say,” Chuck says, holding his eyes.

Mike swallows hard, disappointment evaporating in the wash of heat. “Yessi— uh, my Lord. Yes, my Lord.”

“God,” Chuck mutters, and the breath he lets out is shaky. “Okay. Just use your tongue at first, get used to that.”

“I wanna do what you did for me,” Mike protests.

“ _Mike!_ ” Chuck snaps, and it goes through Mike like a shockwave.

“Yessir!” he gasps, short of breath and barely thinking, and ducks his head to obey. Chuck bites off a groan. Mike licks and slides his tongue around and tries to find the best spots, and Chuck makes high, breathy noises. Whenever he finds something that gets a particularly good noise, he zeroes in on it, spurring Chuck louder and louder until he gets control of himself again. He wants Chuck to _scream_ for him, like he does in Mutt, unrestrained. Lost in the rush.

“Y—you— you can—ngh.” Chuck swallows, hard, his voice tight with effort. “Suck. But _slowly_.”

“ _Aw_ ,” Mike goes, just to tease. Chuck huffs a nearly silent laugh and tugs Mike's hair again, which is so nice, Mike can’t even pretend to be disappointed anymore. He shivers happily and takes Chuck’s dick into his mouth—

“ _Teeth_!” Chuck yelps.

“Sorry! Sorry! Uh...” Mike tries again, even more tentatively, and Chuck laughs again.

“Lips over your teeth, Mikey.”

“Mm. Okay.” Mike tries again, effort almost ruined again by his smile. Chuck’s fingers are in his hair, saying his _name_ , the sharp, strange taste of him on Mike’s tongue.

 _I love this guy,_ Mike thinks. It’s not a new thought.  He takes a little more of Chuck’s dick in, trying his best with his teeth and not sure if he’s getting it, and feels Chuck’s hips tremble and hitch against his hands.

“Let me— let me just— no, stay there,” Chuck pants, taking a firmer grip on Mike’s hair, and pushes _himself_ up and in. Mike coughs a little, startled, then grabs Chuck’s leg enthusiastically to keep him from pulling out. Chuck moans, ragged and high, and does it again— then three and four times, establishing a rhythm, trying to read if Mike’s doing okay, which, _yes_ , he _absolutely is_. Chuck’s in control like this, has him totally, his mouth, hair, a leg pressed up against Mike’s chest, it’s overwhelming. It’s a _rush_ , even at the steady, deliberate pace Chuck’s setting, it’s new and harsh and a little painful and he loves it. He swallows and gasps for air and hangs on and lets Chuck do just whatever he wants.

“I want— nnh, Mi— _my Dragon_ , are you— can you—” and the answer to that is yes, of course, anything, but all Mike can do is suck noisily and squeeze Chuck’s leg and thrill as Chuck goes _faster_ , despite all his stern warnings, rougher and quicker, until Mike’s jaw is aching and he’s dizzy with breathlessness. If he wanted to stop he could, he knows he could, but he doesn’t want to. Even the pain feels good, the sting of his scalp and the rising stiffness in his shoulders and the whole situation with his mouth. He wants to be used. He wants all of his body to remember who used him.

Chuck _does_ scream, when he comes, loud and gorgeous, and Mike’s mouth floods with something hot and thick and maybe not the _best_ tasting. He swallows some and spills the rest down his chin, but keeps Chuck’s dick in his mouth as best he can through the orgasm until his best friend finally pulls out and away.

Then Mike coughs a little, and wipes his mouth with his arm. It’s... a little gross. But also: _awesome_. They just had _sex_. He sucked Chuck’s _dick_ and _Chuck liked it_.

Wait.

“Was that okay?” he asks. Was it supposed to take more time? Or... less? He’s worried, suddenly.

“Oh, wow, your voice,” Chuck says, getting up on an elbow. “Wow. And your everything. Holy _shit_ , Mi— my, uh, Dragon. _Wow_. Of course that was okay, are you nuts, that was incredible.”

Mike grins, wiping his mouth again, kind of self conscious.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean— can I— can I just—” Chuck makes a frame of his fingers and looks at Mike through it. “Can I take a picture...?”

“Uh—”

“No, it was dumb of me to ask, never mind—”

“No, you can! It’s, uh, it’s fine. If you want.”

Chuck’s really red, he’s gorgeous, hair everywhere and one eye totally exposed, bright blue and happy despite himself. He takes the picture.

“I am encrypting this fifty ways from Friday,” he says.

“What, I’m not pretty enough for your lock screen?” Mike grins. The scandalized squeak Chuck makes is adorable, and Mike wants to kiss him, and he _can_ , so he does. It’s great, even if it’s starting to feel familiar now instead of fantastically new.

“God, you sound so good like this,” Chuck murmurs, warm and soft into Mike’s sore mouth, and Mike shivers again. “If you always—” and he cuts off, sharp. It takes Mike a second to realize why.  

This isn’t _always_. This is _tonight_. This is just— for fun, for a game, for their characters. This isn’t something Mike gets to do. It’s Smiling Dragon’s thing.

Mike briefly and irrationally hates a guy who doesn’t really exist.

“Next weekend,” he says, eyes closed like a coward. “When I’ve earned it.”

“When you’ve... _earned_ it?” Chuck says, shocked. Kind of incredulous. Fear pours down Mike’s spine, icy and horrible.

“On the battlefield or wherever,” he says, suddenly unsure and desperate, and opens his eyes. He has to see Chuck’s face. “My King. You said we could— if I proved myself— we could do this again.”   

“You really want to?” Those blue eyes are round, startled, but he doesn't look upset.

“ _Yes_.”  Please. _Please_. “If it pleased you, my Lord.”

Chuck lets out a long breath. “My— my favorite knight. Fairest and most favored. Of course it would.”

Mike sort of sags into him, drops his forehead against Chuck’s shoulder.

“Good,” he says, breathing as the ice melts away again.

Chuck’s fingers thread into his hair and stroke gently and Mike sighs, muscles relaxing that he didn't even realize had gone tight. “My Dragon,” Chuck says, “did you truly think I might refuse you? That it was even within the realm of possibility?”

“Uh. I mean. I guess I thought it might be just a— yeah?”

“A one time thing,” Chuck fills in, and snorts. “As though, having once tasted you, anyone could possibly turn away from the offer of more.”

 _Tasted you_. Whoa. Mike’s face heats. He's not sure if that's supposed to be a metaphor or not, but either way— whoa.

“King I may be,” Chuck goes on in fine royal style, “but I'm still mortal flesh, not stone. I have no immunity to such temptation.”

Mike lifts his head and blinks. “Temptation?” That makes it sound like Smiling Dragon is distracting his king, or something. Maybe not a good thing?

“Oh my god,” Chuck mutters, and tugs him in to kiss him. “Stop—” he says against Mike's lips, “—sounding confused when you're all—” another kiss, “—disheveled and flushed and— _god._ ” He makes this kind of growly groan and kisses Mike again, harder.

Oh, okay. Mike kisses back in relief. Not a bad thing at all, apparently.

Finally Chuck pulls back, takes a deep breath and pushes a hand through his own messy hair. “Okay, yeah, we should definitely get cleaned up.”

Mike nods. He kind of wants to wash his face, to start with. Not that he's complaining! But clean sounds good. He gets to his feet, surprised at his own continuing clumsiness, and takes a few cautious steps towards the door before Chuck starts laughing.

“Pants, Mikey,” he says, already dragging his shirt back on over his scars.

“Oh,” he says, and starts laughing too. “Oh, man.” He’s suddenly weirdly embarrassed to be naked in front of Chuck, because— he’s actually Chuck, now, he called Mike by his name, sex is over, the game’s over. He’s not his king’s brave, handsome knight anymore. When Chuck throws him his underwear he shuffles into them gratefully, then has to hunt for where his clothes got kicked to, which turns out to be under a surprising number of pillows. They really managed to scatter them around.

Chuck’s got everything back on and is picking dust off his cape by the time Mike’s given up on finding his boots.

“Really? You’re wearing your cape again?” Mike asks.

“It’s a great cape,” Chuck says. “I don’t get to wear it enough.” He flips the hood up and grins at Mike, as brilliant and surprising as his smiles always are. Mike grins back, helplessly.

“It does make your shoulders look— uh.” He’s abruptly not sure if he’s allowed to say. Chuck’s smile goes crooked.

“Thanks, dude,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you more water. We burn through alcohol really fast, and you do _not_ want to find out what kind of hangover that can give you if you don’t stay hydrated.”

“I don’t like water now,” Mike complains. “Water is boring.” The walk down the hallway is significantly easier than last time, even though Mike’s a lot more tired, and sort of... dislocated. He feels as if he’s drifting behind his body, just a bit. Chuck keeps a hand on his shoulder and that’s nice.   

His reflection comes as a shock when he gets to the washroom, and he thinks, _Chuck took a picture of this._ His hair’s a wild mess and his mouth looks all red and— different, and there’s a dark chain of bruises down his neck. He doesn’t look like himself at all, he looks maybe like he’s still Smiling Dragon. Someone sexy. Someone who has sex. He washes up fast and combs his hair back into place with wet fingers, then can’t really manage to look Chuck in the face when he comes back out.

“Tired?” Chuck asks, giving him a water bottle.

“Mm.” Mike takes a drink of the flat, tepid liquid, then makes a face. Chuck just laughs at him again, and Mike finds himself laughing too, even if it’s not really funny. He’s happy, despite everything. Or because of everything.

“Let’s find somewhere to crash for the night,” Chuck says, pulling him off by his arm.

“We’re not going home?”

Chuck shoots him a weird look, like he’s totally appalled just by the suggestion.

“Mike, you’re not driving,” he says.

“What? Why not?”

“You’re not even doing all that hot on _walking_ , dude!”

“Yeah, so we’d be _driving_.”

Chuck just snorts at him. “No, Mike. It’s like, the first rule of drinking. You can’t drive while you’re drunk.”

Mike feels sort of betrayed at this. “But I’m _good_ at driving,” he protests. “And drinking!”

Chuck laughs at him _again_. “Yeah, but not at the same time. Come on, there’s like, I had a lot of bunks put in on the second floor. They’re fine. We’ll be fine.”

“I want top bunk,” Mike says immediately.

“Nope,” Chuck says.

“You’re not as much fun when we’re not making out,” Mike complains.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Chuck says. “Here we go.” He carefully pushes open a door painted with a big raven and labeled _Morpheus hic regnat._

The room is large and quiet and smells like dust and sweat and sleep. Some kids are already snoring on some of the bunks. Chuck pushes Mike onto a bottom bunk, which isn’t cool, but then climbs on after him, which is awesome. He shoves Mike over and buries his face in Mike’s shoulder and when he spreads his cloak over them both he doesn’t take his arm back, leaving it slung across Mike’s chest. He’s suddenly very aware of how hard his heart is beating against his ribs.

“I forgot my boots,” Mike realizes. “We gotta—”

“Go to sleep,” Chuck mumbles.

“You can’t boss me around when you’re Chuck,” Mike says. “I _like_ those boots—”

Chuck bites his neck and Mike’s breath catches as he flushes hot all over.

“Go to _sleep_ , Dragon,” his king says. “We’ll worry about it all in the morning.”

“Oh,” Mike says softly. “Yes, my Lord.” 

He closes his eyes, feeling the warmth and weight of the arm over his chest, the hold Chuck has on him, and he smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _In the lost age where the jewels hide_  
>  _And the sword sticks in the waiting stone_  
>  _Still warm._  
>  —Age of Kings, _The Mountain Goats_


End file.
